


hold me tight or don't

by itsafuckingdeathwish



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Sad, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, although i guess its not really an attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsafuckingdeathwish/pseuds/itsafuckingdeathwish
Summary: "AU where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate//Additionally:  when your soulmate dies, the world goes back to black and white."*i found the prompt on tumblr, not mine“Trick!  Patrick!  Patrick, what’s wrong, man?”  Joe’s gray hands were shaking him on the gray floor of this gray shop, and Patrick just couldn't take it anymore, this world that was now devoid of color and life and vibrancy and happiness and now Pete





	1. you look so pretty but youre gone so soon

**Author's Note:**

> TW for: suicide, depression

When Patrick’s world dissolved, there was no warning.  No sharp pain and then the nothingness.  He didn’t feel dizzy first, there was no loud sound.  The force of it, as all of the color was sucked out of the world, pushed him to the ground.  It wasn’t completely sudden, either.  Actually, the first thing he noticed that left was the exact caramel shade of glaze on a mug that shot through Pete’s eyes.  Patrick staggered a bit in the shop, staring at the now-gray mug.  Then, all of the color around it started leaching out more and more quickly, collecting in spots and then slithering out like snakes.  He didn’t know where they went, but they weren’t anywhere Patrick could see them.  It would have been kind of beautiful, like some kind of modern art:   _ Snakes steal all the color from the world, and they don’t even leave Pete’s eyes. _

 

He fell to the ground, numb, staring at that mug that used to be one of the infinite colors of Pete’s eyes, but that was now just an ashy gray.  A tear threatened to leak out of his eye, so he let it, not really caring.  His world hadn’t been colorless since he was fourteen, since that random brush in the hall that knocked them both down, not from the touch, but from the color that the touch brought.  It had looked a little bit like this had, when the snakes were still leaving, but the first time, his world had been flooding with color and vibrancy and life, and how had he never known that one person could be that beautiful?  

 

Patrick had seen videos and interviewers of people crying and describing what it was like when the color left.  Some said that all of the color just slowly faded away until there was nothing there at all, and it didn’t look like there ever had been.  Some said that it all just disappeared with a faint pop, leaving only gray and sadness behind.  But Patrick knew that no matter how it happened, it would never come back.  

 

Wait.  Did this mean that Pete was---dead?  No.  Just because nobody had ever heard of the color leaving for any reason other than a soulmate dying didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen some other way, right?  It had to be something else, because if it--- _ it _ \---really was true, then they should dig two graves, because when Pete died, Patrick swore he’d be leaving by his side.  

 

Patrick could feel the air leaving his lungs, felt like he was suffocating, choking on the impossible thought that Pete was actually dead, but once the idea had wormed its way into his mind, it refused to leave.  Dead was such a horrible word.  Patrick hated onomatopoeias, and  _ dead  _ was the worst one.   _ Dead  _ sounded so final, so irreversible, so flat and cold and forceful, like the thump of a body hitting the floor.  He wished that it wasn’t a word.  And there was no way to forget what it meant, why you were saying it.  With some words, sometimes you just couldn’t remember their meaning, but dead was just so final that there was no way you could ever get a moment of peace where you forgot what it meant, what it meant that you had to say it.

 

“Trick!  Patrick!  Patrick, what’s wrong, man?”  Joe’s  _ gray  _ hands were shaking him on the  _ gray  _ floor of this  _ gray  _ shop, and Patrick just couldn't take it anymore, this world that was now devoid of color and life and vibrancy and happiness and now Pete.  He squeezed his eyes shut, until colors started to dance against his eyelids.  Fuschia and turqoise and lemon and chartreuse and violet---or wait, was that lavender?

 

He couldn't tell.

 

His memories of the colors were slipping through his grasp the way they had slithered from the world.

 

“Trick.  Trick!  Dude, are you okay?”

 

Now his hearing seemed muffled, like he was underwater.

 

Maybe he was.

 

He certainly felt like he was drowning.  The inescapable thought that Pete was dead was suffocating him, slipping into his eyes, his nose, his mouth, choking him.

 

The shop was fading and sharpening around him, shifting in and out of focus.

 

“Patrick!”  He finally found the strength to look up at Joe’s worried face, lines like the Grand Canyon wrinkling in his forehead.

 

“It's gone.  Joe, it's gone!  It's all gone,  _ he’s  _ gone!”  Patrick's voice became louder and more panicked as he spoke, crescendoing into a frantic shout at the end that drew the attention of everyone else in the shop.

 

The canyon deepened.  “Patrick?  What are you talking about?”

 

“It's all gone.  The snakes stole the color, and they stole him too!  And now it's all gray, everything's gray because they stole everything---he's my everything.”  This sentence faded to almost a whisper as he talked.

 

“Trick?  What snakes?  Who are you talking about?  Pete?”

 

“Yes, of course it's fucking Pete!” he snapped.  “My soulmate is dead and so are the colors!”

 

“Wait---shit.  Shit.  Shit shit shit.  You mean---it went to black and white again?  Like before you met him?”  

 

“Yes!”

 

“Because---because he's dead?”

 

“Yes!  Joe, what do I do?” Patrick wailed.  Pete was lost, and it was the forever kind of lost.  Some lost things can be found---car keys, a dog, a jacket.  But some things, once you've lost them, are gone forever.  Minds, trust, a memory---a soulmate.  

 

Patrick always thought his relationship with Pete would be forever---an eternity of stolen kisses, shared smiles, laughter at the most mundane things, of moments spent with the man who meant everything to Patrick.  Not perpetual, inescapable, world-shattering grief, absence, and sorrow, Pete's ghost following him everywhere like a shadow, an intrinsic part of him that would never be all the way there.  And he would never be able to escape the memories, not as long as his eyes were open to the colorless universe around him, always empty without Pete.

 

Patrick always wanted forever with Pete, but not like this.  


	2. sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this time we take both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still tw for suicide, stay safe!

Patrick,

I'm sorry.  I know that sounds stupid and cliche and way too predictable for a fucking suicide note, but maybe everybody writes it because it's true.  I really am sorry, for the years of your life that I've wasted, for the pain I know I'll cause, for being such a fucking coward and leaving you alone to pick up the pieces.  

 

At least you'll have Joe and Andy, and Brendon and Ryan and everybody else. 

 

I'm sorry for stealing the colors, too. I know you loved them:  a violet sky in that strange time between sunset and night; the color of the ocean just before a storm; those fucking orange walls we painted in your basement, that were so ugly, but they were so us that we loved them anyway.  

 

I know I'll miss them, too, even though I won't have to live without them.  The exact shade of that rose you left on my windshield last summer, just because; the bright, happy rainbow colors from that pride float at the parade we went to last year.  The golden feeling I get whenever I see you, that tingles along with the butterflies I still get every single time.  The first pink light before the sunrise even starts, like in the one we watched on your roof just a few months ago.

 

Do you remember that?  I hope you do, because later, when you think of me, I don't want you to remember now, this note, or losing the colors and me.  I want you to think of all the memories we made, the moments we shared, the experiences we had.  Remember the good times, and remember to go on.  

 

Hold me tight, or don't.  Maybe it's better to just let go, to move on.  Don't let life pass you by while you're stuck in the past holding on to a ghost.  

 

I only wanted to kill myself; I don't want my death to ruin your life.  

 

A wise man once said, “Your life is not your own.  Keep your hands off it.”

 

But that man is much stronger than me.

 

I know I'm a coward.  Instead of sticking it out, taking the good times along with the bad, I'm choosing to sit in a Best Buy parking lot humming “Hallelujah” writing a suicide note to the angel I fell in love with.  And I'm sorry for being too fucking weak to stay there with you.

 

I know you're wondering why, but I can't really tell you that when I don't really know for myself.  Most people know exactly what fucked up their life, which moment in time sent their train on a collision course with the stars, but I just know there's something fundamentally wrong with me, that makes me want to escape more than anything in the world.  Actually, sometimes it's the only thing I wish for.

 

It feels kind of bratty to be depressed without a good reason.  I didn't have abusive parents.  I'm not a stressed teenager.  Nobody died.  I've almost never been attacked for being gay.  I have a soulmate who I love more than anything in the universe.  So why the fuck am I about to down a bunch of pills in a parking lot?  I don't know.  I don't know why, but I can't take it anymore, so I'm leaving.  I'm just sorry for you that it has to be forever.

 

I just hope you realize that without you, I never would have made it this far.  When I was far too deep underwater, you were my sun, shining brighter just for me, guiding me towards the light, at the perfect times when I needed you most, even though you didn't know anything was wrong.  

 

Knowing you, you're probably just feeling guilty, thinking that you should have known, you should have saved me.  But this time, I don't think anybody could.  And you never could have known.  One of the most tiring parts was having to paste a stupid smile on my face every morning, just longing for the moment when I would be alone and I could rip it off.  Maybe the times when I could feel myself shifting moods in a split second from happy-bubbly Pete to sad-I-don't-want-to-talk-to-anybody Pete was really just me getting too exhausted to keep up the pretense.  

 

Because what I hated most was the way everything always changed so quickly like that.  I hated how one second I’d be feeling actually almost okay, just joking around with our friends or kissing you, wondering why I sometimes wanted to leave it all behind, but then the next the tidal wave of self hatred and sorrow came crashing down on me with absolutely no warning, snatching me and sending me whirling and spinning deeper into the ocean of pain and sadness that had become my life, farther and farther away from the light every time until now every time it happened, I wondered whether I’d be able to swim to the surface again.

 

I don't know how none of you ever realized what a shitty friend I was.  Sometimes I would borderline ignore you, nod silently at whatever you said, then stick my earbud back in even when I saw your face  _ fall _ , just because I was too tired to deal with life.  Sometimes I was sarcastic and joking and talkative, and other times I barely spoke.  

 

But for some reason you guys liked me.  You even loved me.  And that makes this so much worse, knowing just how selfish I am.  I'm sorry for leaving you behind to deal with the mess I’m about to create.  

 

Patrick, know that you meant more to me than you'll probably ever know.

 

You've saved my life more times than i could count, even when you didn't know it, just by being there when no one else could be.

 

Actually, you saved my life when we met.  Just five or so hours later, and you could have never found your soulmate, and I could have been bleeding out on the floor, just because I never knew what I could have had.

 

I like to think that the universe doesn't give us color when we meet our soulmate to help us know who they are; I think that even without the colors, I still would've fallen in love with you.  Maybe they're a celebration, not a sign.  And as long as I had you, I never needed anything else, not even the colors.  I just hope y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment/kudos! Love, Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Sorry it's so shitty, but like most of my fics, it was written at like two am and barely edited, but thanks for reading! Comments/kudos greatly appreciated, I love hearing what you guys think! Love, Grace


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